Two Men On The Moon
by sxcond
Summary: Love truly conquers all; Grindelwald triumphs; Albus Dumbledore loses; and yet, in his defeat, gains everything he has ever desired. Or: in which Arthur Weasley is an Astronaut, Lucius Malfoy becomes a moon rock, and all of magical mankind gradually become shooting stars. AU where Grindelwald and love win.


Falmouth Falcons

Chaser 1

Pair: Lucius and Arthur

Relationship: Platonic

(word) addicted

(word) mist

(word) scarf

Words: 2945

* * *

"For the crime of conspiracy and high treason against Lord of the Light, Saviour of the World, Emperor Grindelwald, the court sentences you to a lifetime of permanent Transfiguration into item 295. For the crime of terrorism, murder, and the use of Unforgivables on wizard-kind, the court sentences you to life imprisonment on the moon."

Lucius Malfoy lifted his head. "Very well," he murmured, eyes glinting.

It was alright. He had a plan. For that, he needed Arthur Weasley, his most dependable enemy.

* * *

Arthur Weasley hummed a ditty. _Poor men_ , he thought absently and walked out the door. _Must be awful to face an eternity of boredom on the moon._

"Have a safe trip!" Molly called from the kitchen. "Be careful of those nasty Death Eaters—they've evaded the law for ten years, and I doubt they could have done so without some measure of cunning."

"Yes, yes. Goodbye, dear." Arthur waved back at her and Apparated to London.

There was a _pop_ , and he suddenly wasn't where he had been. Arthur shivered and pulled his Molly-made scarf tighter around his neck now that he was out of the warmth of The Burrow.

"Astronautical Transporter reporting for duty: Arthur Weasley, Ministry number 05865," Arthur recited, beaming.

"Here are the prisoners," Amelia Bones said. She handed him a brown, Ministry-sanctioned canvas sack over to him. Pitch black runes were painted on the fabric along with the list of prisoner names.

"Blimey, this is heavier than usual," Arthur commented, lifting the sack. "Is it filled with bricks?"

"Close," she said tightly. "Rocks."

"Ah. Emperor Grindelwald's special orders?" said Arthur.

Small as it was, Bones smiled at last. "Yes. I presume it must be in retaliation for their attack on the Rock of Gibraltar."

"Should have guessed. Really, the Death Eaters should have known better than to attack the vacation home of Emperor Grindelwald and his consort Lord Dumbledore," Arthur said. "Well, I best be off now."

With a jaunty wave, Arthur left the jails of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He proceeded to ride the elevator one level up─to the roof─where the Department of Planetary Prisoner Transport and his ride was.

* * *

"Comet Moon Charter Sixty-Five, piloted by Arthur Weasley; Ministry number 05865. Clearance to leave?" Arthur said, floating on a broom with a sack attached to the back with a sticking charm.

"Cleared," said a bored voice from his Ministry Communication Necklace.

"Thank you," Arthur said. It never hurt to be polite.

Arthur swallowed. He hated this part. Even after five years, he still couldn't get used to the fear of rising up and up until the sky and the possibility of falling gobbled up his mind.

He pulled up, and the broom rose, gradually, until he couldn't touch the ground. He felt an uncomfortable sensation as the Atmosphere-Protection Charm—a modified version of the Bubble-head Charm, intended for space-travel—activated, and the icy breeze couldn't be felt any longer.

Arthur leaned forward. The panic began, beating in his chest like a war drum. Soon, there was a rush—his heart jumped into his throat—and the casual blue of the sky vanished, replaced by a void. He counted to three before stopping the broom about a hundred feet from the moon's surface.

Slowing down the last part of the way, he soon set his foot on the moon.

"Arthur Weasley; Ministry number 05865; touchdown successful." Arthur said and alighted from his broom.

He thought it odd when no one answered, but perhaps the person responsible for overseeing his travel had gone to grab a snack.

Arthur removed the sticking charm on the sack and placed it on the ground amidst possibly hundreds of similar sacks.

"Goodbye," he mumbled, swung himself back on the broom and pulled up.

Nothing happened.

He tried again, disbelieving.

Still nothing.

He tried again and again and again, each time with more desperation, and yet, the broom did not respond.

Dread devoured his stomach. He heard his blood pound in his ears.

Arthur said with disbelief, "Arthur Weasley calling for back up. Arthur Weasley calling for back up."

No one answered. The silence was damning.

His face turned as ashen as the moon. "Bugger me."

Gut instinct told him that it was Lucius' fault.

* * *

Arthur's body grew weaker with each passing second, and his will remained strong for only a night. (Though he did not know it, for on the moon, there was neither day nor night.)

Soon, he broke. How couldn't he, when the alternative was so damning, and he was so hungry and thirsty and afraid? For the first time in his life, Arthur was experiencing true suffering.

He took a rock from the sack and placed it on the surface of the moon. The name _Lucius Malfoy_ was carved on the rock; Lucius, the rock, was the only person Arthur could trust.

Not because he trusted it, but because it was better to choose the devil you knew than the one you didn't.

In this strange space, his only hope to return home was to find out why and how he was bound here. If Lucius had tampered with the broom, he could reverse it, and his hell would end. Lucius was his only ray of light.

Arthur lifted his wand and re-transfigured a face for the rock which had once been Lucius. He placed a Atmosphere-Protection Charm around it. "Tell me," he said hoarsely, eyes misting with hope, "what you did."

"Oh, I will," crooned the devil with grey moons for eyes."We sealed off the magic of that broom beforehand. Unless you undo the permanent Transfiguration placed on us, you will be, unfortunately, stuck here for all eternity," Lucius said in succinct and silky tones.

"Are you bonkers? If I do that, _I'll_ be thrown here for abandonment of duty and treason!"

"Quite right," said Lucius.

 _How nice it must be_ _to remain so self-assured even as a bloody moon rock,_ Arthur thought with a tinge of envy, scowling.

"You best begin deciding. The human body can't survive long without water, after all," Lucius continued.

* * *

Arthur didn't know what led him to do it. Perhaps it was an onset of insanity. Perhaps it was the loneliness. Or perhaps it was the silence and the incessant buzzing. He didn't know why, but whenever it was too quiet, an odd noise would start like a bee had wandered into his ear.

"Hey, Lucius," Arthur began. "Do you like stars?"

A pause.

"Yes."

Arthur blinked. "Blimey, really?"

"Why else would I name my son Orion?" Lucius sneered.

"I—I see," Arthur said, disconcerted.

Lucius Malfoy, liking stars—sparkly bits in the sky. Somehow, Arthur felt betrayed. By whom, he wondered? Lucius? His own expectations? His own expectations, he decided. Betrayal could not occur without pre-existing trust. He had never trusted Lucius in the first place, but he had placed a great deal of trust in his perception of how things were supposed to be.

Lucius Malfoy was supposed to be tall and regal and far too pretty, and certainly far too masculine, to like the stars. Arthur Weasley was supposed to be home in bed with his lovely wife Molly, and not trapped on the moon with his arch-nemesis.

Even now, Arthur couldn't believe that what was happening was really happening, because everything seemed like it had been ripped off from a cheap Muggle science fiction movie.

It was like someone dying. You kept thinking that they weren't, that you'd see the deceased alive again, talking to someone, maybe yourself. Then you'd remember, but everything still felt so surreal, like a dream.

A minute later, Arthur asked, "Why Voldemort?"

"Better him than Grindelwald and Albus Dumbledore," Lucius said.

Arthur furrowed his brows. "What's wrong with them?"

"They are weak," Lucius spat. "They are weakening wizards."

"They seem to be all about empowerment of wizards to me," Arthur commented. He did not mention how speaking ill of the Emperor and the Lord was an offence of minor treason. Lucius was already on the moon prison for life, what other charges could they heap on him?

"Arthur," Lucius said with such a look of distaste that Arthur began to feel incredibly dim. "Have you ever heard of Natural Selection?"

"No, never."

"For millennia, Muggles had been the only species besides Wizards themselves that were a possible threat to a trained wizard. They kept us on our toes, and fear of discovery made us strong. With them under our subjugation, we will grow complacent. Weak. I've noticed throughout my career as a Death Eater that year after year, Wizards become even easier to _Imperio_ ," Lucius proselytized, with a mad, messianic zeal.

"The Muggles will rebel; Lord Voldemort has seen it. They will find the secret to magic and when they do, they will be the ones in control and we shall be chattel," Lucius proclaimed.

"If you say so…."

Arthur regretted having asked. Deranged Lucius was disturbing when he had always seen Lucius in complete calm.

* * *

In space, where his surroundings were a monochrome array of grey gravel, brown sacks, and dark space, Lucius Malfoy seemed very bright indeed. So did his ultimatum, when Arthur's mind was a mist of hunger and thirst.

Until now, he had never had to suffer from starvation or thirst. _What a novel experience this has turned out to be,_ thought Arthur weakly.

Not for the first time, Arthur began to wonder if it was really so terrible to concede to Lucius' request. The pain of thirst was awful. So awful. Besides, surely the Death Eaters would be captured as soon as they landed back on earth. They had trackers on them, after all. And maybe, just maybe, Arthur would be pardoned; it was a difficult choice, having to choose between death and a simple transfiguration. The court would understand.

But then he thought of the sacrifices that would have to be made for the Greater Good of their recapture. Whose children would be killed or hostaged at the terrorists' hands first?

Would it be his?

Poor Bill and Charlie, still innocent children barely capable of speech; yet, they would be condemned to death by their cold-hearted father who abandoned his duty of striving for the Greater Good.

"Lucius," said Arthur. "Do you miss your child?"

"That is none of your business," said Lucius and that was that, until an hour later, when Arthur continued.

"I do miss Charlie and Bill," Arthur confessed. "Very, very much. As for Molly, I hope she hasn't lost her sanity yet; she can never deal with them both at once. They drive her up the wall."

"Mmhmm," Lucius said murmured.

Arthur resumed his ramble.

* * *

Arthur did not know this, because everything still felt like one eternally long day—or nightmare—but the second day dawned.

"Lucius," he croaked, a thought striking him. "Why haven't you killed me yet? Wouldn't it be easier to kill me and take my wand, then transfigure the Death Eaters back on your own? If not, why haven't you stolen the broom and abandoned them?"

"Arthur," Lucius mimicked disparagingly. "Surely you know that permanent transfigurations are difficult enough to undo with your own wand. If you used another's, at best, nothing will happen. As for running…..."

Lucius sighed. "Lord Voldemort will not be pleased."

"How are you even going to let the Death Eaters escape if there's only one broom?" Arthur continued desperately. "Your plan will fail—why don't you let me turn you back into a rock? I'll carry you back to earth and dispel the transfiguration. You can live out the rest of your life in peace with your wife and unborn son. Orion, was it? No one ever has to know..."

Lucius sneered but did not reply.

(To Lucius, Arthur's words had slithered out like honey or the snake of temptation itself. Arthur did not know this, however.)

Lying on the ground bonelessly, Arthur wondered why no one had rescued him yet. That thought depressed him. He did not talk that day.

Lucius just stared with a solemn gaze.

* * *

Arthur knew the end was nigh. He would die on this desolate rock, in the middle of space.

"Give up, Arthur," the Lucius rock rasped. "Or you will die."

Arthur tried to laugh. He could not make a sound. "I'd rather die," he replied vociferously.

"Suit yourself."

It was already the third day. And yet, Arthur had not been rescued. Doubts began to creep into his mind and the mist of disbelief finally faded.

For the first time in days, his brain was crystal clear; he knew he was never going to see Molly or Charlie or Bill again; or Fabian or Gideon, or Lord Grindelwald at his speeches.

Arthur understood. He was going to die for the Greater Good of the people, and the only one who had made any attempts at saving him was Lucius Malfoy, the very man who had damned him. They were each others' Satan and salvation.

Arthur began to chuckle. But his throat was too parched. So his laughter was as silent and extant as his mirth.

* * *

The third night arrived. Arthur did not know what overcame him. Perhaps self-preservation. More likely, it was insanity. He removed a rock from a sack. He transfigured it back into a man, shot a spell of sickly green light at it. It fell to the ground, dead.

Then Arthur crawled over to the body and ate the flesh and drank the blood of Teddy Tonks.

Lucius was speechless.

* * *

The sixth day came. Arthur was still alive. Antonin Dolohov and Teddy Tonks were not.

Lucius could say that this was an outcome that he had not expected.

* * *

With every three days that passed, a man who was transfigured into rock was transfigured back into a man and devoured at night.

* * *

 _It is odd,_ Arthur thought one day, _how I'm the only one who can use magic here. It's almost like I'm a god._

Forty days and forty nights passed; meanwhile, Arthur turned stones into men—or bread? Arthur liked bread. He missed bread. Perhaps thinking of them as merely bread would ease the guilt a little.

Lucius could only watch in silence, knowing that once the rest of the rocks depleted, he would be next.

* * *

On day sixty-nine, an idea sparked in Arthur's brain. He would share his sin.

Arthur transfigured the Lucius-rock-with-face into a torso without arms.

"Lucius," he said, feeding a lump of flesh into Lucius' mouth. Arthur smiled deliriously, and Lucius shivered but complied. Or had he complied because he had shivered?

"Eat."

Lucius did so.

The blood felt warm and sticky in his throat, but he could move his head. He had a body—oh, he had half a body! How he missed it. Lucius swallowed.

(He would never tell anyone, but with that, Arthur Weasley had forever endeared himself in Lucius' heart.)

* * *

Arthur wondered why he had done it. He knew it would deplete his food supply to feed another man. And yet, he dearly wished for company and the easing of guilt. Company, company—were they friends?

Arthur thought so. At least friends, he decided, happy for the first time in weeks.

* * *

With every meal they shared, Arthur felt his guilt recede with great relief. _There is nothing wrong with eating people, if Lucius is doing it with me_ , he thought.

Arthur was grateful for Lucius' presence. In fact, in this space, in the middle of nowhere, he loved him.

Arthur just wished he could see his wife and children one last time.

Something bright passed by far overhead. He glanced up and saw more shooting stars follow after that. Then he looked again. Horror struck him.

He saw that they were not stars, but burning people being launched from earth into space.

* * *

Amongst the false shooting stars, he found three figures, each with red hair, all set ablaze.

"Molly; Charlie; Bill!" he cried, recognising them instantly, and reached for them. But they had already vanished into a wink in the distance.

Lucius was quiet as a grave.

Arthur suddenly recalled a Muggle song he was once addicted to simply because it was Muggle. His father had smuggled the vinyl record from the fires when he was a boy, and it had been hidden in the dredges of his memory until now.

It went like this:

" _When you wish upon a star_

 _Makes no difference who you are_

 _Anything your heart desires_

 _Will come to you."_

 _Poor Molly,_ he thought. _Poor Charlie; poor Bill._

Then: _thank goodness they're dead. I don't think I could face them after all that I have done._

"I... am sorry for your loss," Lucius said.

Arthur replied an hour later, "They wouldn't have understood what I have gone through. Unlike you."

He smiled beatifically, and Lucius inwardly agreed; their mutual suffering and sinning had forged a bond that surpassed even love.

* * *

When their food ran out six months later, Arthur and Lucius died together not with a whimper, but with a bang.

Too busy combatting the Death Eater terrorists, the world did not care that in the span of time between Arthur's stranding on the moon and his death, Arthur had become Lucius' most dependable, only friend.


End file.
